


Hot Mud

by DollopheadedMerlin



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Gen, Guilt, Merlin!whump, Whump!Merlin, whump!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:19:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollopheadedMerlin/pseuds/DollopheadedMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In honor of the fast approaching heat of spring and summer (I hate it), a whump! one shot for a our poor Merlin who quickly succumbs to the blazing sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Mud

The hunt was dragging on at an excruciatingly slow rate. The sun above was scorching hot, fiery rays bleeding down on the brows of the men below.

Merlin, trudging behind under the weight of Arthur’s gear, was the only one in the group whose skin was dry, not a single bead of sweat to be seen. Lancelot suspected that the gifted boy might have cast a spell on himself to keep cool. The air around them was so steamy and humid that the knight was almost tempted to risk the warlock’s safety to ask that he might share his talents and put his own boiling to an end.

Yet, the boy still complained and babbled to Arthur about how _hot_ he was and how sore his limbs were. Arthur, of course, dismissed his complaints by pointing out how much better off the servant was compared to the rest of them, not having sweat in the slightest.

Merlin felt anything _but_ grateful for his luck. His knees _did_ wobble beneath his burden and his mouth _was_ incredibly dry. All throughout their trip, Arthur would tease him, offering him water only to toss it off in the opposite direction as he reached for it. He didn’t manage to get a drip to drink during the whole endeavor.

 

 

On the journey back to Camelot, with little game other than a malnourished hare and a sick looking pheasant, Arthur abruptly stopped.

“Merlin,” he called.

The weary boy brought his horse up beside his master and said, “Yeah?” with a heavy breath.

“I think I must have left my knife back by the last clearing,” the prince informed.

“And?” Merlin questioned with a strange tone. It was partially due to his reluctance to receive any more work, but his exhaustion contributed a bit of legitimate confusion.

“I want you to go and retrieve it for me,” Arthur commanded.

“But,” Merlin groaned, “it’s blazing hot out and you haven’t let me so much as _touch_ a waterskin!”

“Here,” Arthur grunted as he tossed his servant a bladder. “And hurry up, will you? I’m going to need you later.”

Merlin sighed and rolled his eyes before turning his horse around and heading back towards the clearing. It wasn’t far off behind them, but it would still lengthen his trip back home, especially if he had to look for the dagger.

When he reached the clearing, he tethered his horse and sat down on a log for a brief rest. He took out the wine bladder and uncapped it. He greedily thrust the skin towards his mouth, eager to down all of its contents, only to find that the thing was empty; bone dry.

“Arthur!” Merlin growled as he threw the waterskin hard against the ground. He was baking inside and wanted nothing more than a spot to drink. He would kill for just the smallest amount of water at that moment.

He disgruntledly got back on his feet and began to scan the ground and the brush for any sign of _Arthur’s blasted dagger._  

Eventually, after a long while of his blood boiling under the heat of the sun, Merlin spotted the _bloody thing._ He crouched down and picked the knife up from under a stray leaf. He wiped the grime and dirt form its blade with his sleeve and, strangely, found himself looking intensely at it.

The gleam of the sun against the fine polished metal was abnormally mesmerizing. However, whenever Merlin managed to catch his own unusual behavior, the glow of the blade would quickly distract him again.

He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there, just staring at the golden shimmer of the knife. He was only deterred from his concentrations when he heard a rustle in the woods around him. His head shot up and he looked around with blurred vision. He spotted a small doe hop out from the bushes and sniff at Merlin’s dropped waterskin. Merlin sighed, relieved that it was not an actual threat. However, suddenly his mind began to work, concocting abnormal ideas that would never appear in the boy’s head if it weren’t for the sun melting his brains. He realized he was hungry and, naturally, the best solution would be to chase down the deer and make it his meal.

Merlin staggered to his feet and began to step forward, inching closer to the hart with a hungry stomach. Much to his dismay, the beast was startled and scampered off. Despite this, Merlin irrationally did not give up. He lurched forward and attempted to grab at the deer as it pounced away, only succeeding in groping at the air as he fell back to his knees. He grumpily got back to his feet and unwittingly followed the deer’s path, regardless of how far gone it was.

 

 

Arthur and his knights returned home at an early hour, only a few candle ticks past noon. Though the day had seemed to drag on forever, they hadn’t really been out for that long. He was greeted by the usual loyal stable boy, coming to collect their steeds. Then, he made way for his chambers to cool down and drink his full.

On his way to his sanctuary, he passed Gaius in the corridor. “Where’s Merlin?” he asked.

“Oh,” Arthur said, he had almost forgotten, “he went back to the clearing to get me my dagger. I unwittingly left it behind.”

“He went alone?” Gaius questioned, eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” Arthur agreed, slightly unnerved by the old man’s gaze.

The doctor sighed. “Did you at least make sure he had water?”

Arthur snorted. “To be honest, Gaius, I’m not sure he _needs_ it!”

Gaius froze for a moment. “And what makes to say that?” he interrogated eagerly.

“He was barely sweating Gaius! You should have seen him!” Arthur mused. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man stand that long under heat like this before! Ha!”

But the price’s humor was short lived. The physician’s eyes grew wide. “Are you meaning to say that Merlin _wasn’t_ sweating?” he asked, alarmed.

“Yes,” Arthur answered meekly, “why?”

“Sire,” Gaius prompted, “I believe Merlin is in some sort of danger. A man under this temperature is bound to sweat. If he had not done so after _so long_ in the heat, then I fear that something may be gravely wrong!”

A twinge of guilt struck Arthur. He’d left Merlin alone and dehydrated on what was the hottest day of the season with nothing but an empty waterskin. “What do I do Gaius?”

“He may suffer from a heat stroke if he is left out there for too long. Take as much water as you can to find him and keep him as cool as possible.”

“Of course,” Arthur complied, turning to leave.

“And Arthur,” Gaius called after him. The prince stopped. “I must warn you; he will not be in his right mind if the sun has taken claim to him. He may behave . . . _strangely._ Try to coax him into things, rather than forcing him. He may not be compliant.”

Arthur hastily nodded before he ran to ready himself.

 

 

Meanwhile, the young servant was stomping through the leaves, walking as though he were a drunkard, eyes staring blearily up at the treetops. He smacked his lips and tried to restore moisture to them, but his spit was thick and stuck to his throat.

Eventually he began to stumble, tripping over every other root, branch, and stone in his path until he was too tired to return to his feet. Instead, he crawled along the forest floor, calves tense and flexing in painful cramps and arms shaking under his own weight.

He was still holding his master’s knife though, loyal to a fault as he was. But he no longer held it by the hilt. It seemed, he preferred to grasp it around the pointed edge, and barely took notice of the pain it brought him as he unknowingly pressed the blade into his palm.

His hot dry skin was becoming too much and his head throbbed immensely. It felt as though his brain was trying to fight its way out of his skull by swelling up as large as it could. All he could think about was water. He imagined himself bathing in it for eternity and never leaving its depths, the lady of the lake soothingly ensuring his comport beneath the cool shield from the fiery sun.

With time, his mind became so warped in the idea of finding water that the lack of it in his world was too agitating. As a solution, his brain invented its own spring, appearing before him behind a mask of fruitful trees.

Merlin leapt for joy as the sight of the blessed liquid and bumbled over towards it, barely keeping his balance. When he reached the water’s edge, he let himself go slack as he basked in the glory of the refreshing quench.

 

 

Arthur rode hard through the woods, desperate to find his friend before it was too late. He watched the trees around him frantically as he approached the clearing, only stopping when he came upon Merlin’s abandoned horse.

He dismounted and tied his steed up beside his. He then tracked Merlin’s paces a little whiles into the clearing and, on the far end of it, he found a dry, empty waterskin, left behind in the dirt.

“Dammit,” Arthur cursed himself. The blame was his for gifting Merlin with an empty skin, thinking it some sort of cruel joke. It wasn’t hard to pick up the servant’s tracks from there with the way he bombarded with everything in his path. So, he went on walking with several wine bladders hanging off his shoulders, still keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the lost boy.

After some searching, Arthur eventually came up upon some recently made marks in the dirt. He eagerly pressed forward until the tracks ended at the edge of a small ravine. He peered down into the dip below. It seemed there may have once been a river there, but it had been long gone, since replaced with roots and mud.

He looked over the silt several times, repeatedly seeing nothing out of the ordinary. But then his eye caught something; a strangely shaped lump amongst the slick grime. It was Merlin.

Arthur’s stomach dropped as he recognized the figure and he poured himself down into the ravine beside him.

“Merlin!” he called as he approached the body. He quickly lifted the boy’s head out of the mire and pulled him into a sitting position. “Merlin!” he said again, lightly tapping the man’s cheek in an attempt to arouse him. He didn’t move. It was then that the prince realized that a great deal of all the gook and clay had managed to slink its way into Merlin’s mouth. Seeing this, Arthur quickly checked to see if his friend was breathing. He was not.

Without a second thought, Arthur dug his gloved hand into the invalid’s jaw and scooped out clumps of sludge and muck with great haste. It worried him how much of the thick clay was lodged in the boy’s throat and, for a moment, he thought he would never manage to dig it all out.

 _“Grauck!”_ Merlin sputtered, hacking out a large lump of wet, slimy goo. He began heaving out the mud in his throat, coughing and wheezing for breath.

To Arthur’s horror, when the boy seemed to have regained his ability to breath, he again reached out and took a good deal of muck into a cupped hand and attempted to bring it to his mouth.

“No, Merlin!” Arthur denied, smacking his hand away. He then stripped a waterskin off of his shoulder and fraught to pour it down Merlin’s throat. Merlin struggled and pushed Arthur away, falling again to his side. He tried again, against Arthur’s will, to drink the boiling gunk around him. Arthur grabbed his arms before he could and held him back up. “Come on Merlin,” he coaxed. “I need you to drink. This will taste better, I promise.”

Initially, the boy spit the water back at Arthur and gagged into the slime around him. But eventually, he recognized the liquid as a blessing and began to gulp at it greedily with vigor, bringing a muddied hand up to get a better hold of the nozzle.

When the prince was satisfied that Merlin was hydrated enough to be moved, he hoisted his servant out of the sticky, hot mud and dragged him up and out of the ravine with great difficulty. When he reached solid ground, he quenched Merlin’s thirst again, the boy still eager as ever for water under the shade of a tree with low branches.

After a few gulps, Merlin let out a low, disturbing gurgle and spat black mud out onto his chin before breaking into a feeble cough. His breath seemed to return to him then in hitched gasps. Arthur laid Merlin down, pulling his back away from the trunk and laying him flat on the ground. His heart tied itself in knots as the king looked at the result of his arrogance. Merlin could barely keep his eyes open, the heat of the sun making them sting. One could hear the struggle in his breath every time he tried to swallow down another gulp of thick, humid air.

Arthur crawled up to Merlin’s face and took a second bladder in his hand. He pressed his thumb against the nozzle and let the water trickle out and onto Merlin’s dirtied face. As the grime washed away, Merlin’s red, rubbery face was revealed. The prince took his free hand, removed the glove, and began to wipe away the access muck with his thumb. The boy’s skin was hot to the touch and felt tight against his bones and muscles.

When Merlin’s face was clear of the majority of the dirt, Arthur maneuvered himself to his legs and began to take off Merlin’s boots. He rolled up the servant’s pants until they were just above the knee and then did the same to his sleeves. As he pulled up the sleeve of his right arm, he found his knife, still clutched in the weary boy’s hand. Arthur took it from him, Merlin gripping it tighter and cutting deeper into his palm. His resistance was weak and Arthur easily retrieved it and threw it to the side, frustrated.

“Oh, Merlin,” he sighed. The boy’s loyalty was corrupted. Here he was, dying because of Arthur’s insolence, and he had still held on to the _blasted_ dagger! The prince ripped a bit of fabric from his sleeve and, after watering the wound, bandaged it to keep any more muck from seeping into his cuts.

When he looked back to Merlin’s face, blame heavy on his conscience, the boy was blinking rapidly, seemingly trying to see where he was or figure out what was going on. His breathing still came in spurts, huffing in and out through barely parted lips. His upper lip was unusually stuck out, baring his teeth in a peculiar fashion. This red faced, delirious, discombobulated invalid was not Merlin, not to Arthur. He wanted his friend back and he was going to do everything in his power to right his wrongs.

He lifted Merlin’s head up and had him drink more water before he hefted the servant up off the ground and practically dragged him back to the horses. He could walk, Arthur found, but his steps were fumbled and uncoordinated. If Arthur hadn’t been there to hold him up, he would have surely ended up back on the ground, rolling in the dirt again.

Arthur also noticed that Merlin began to look around at things as if they were utterly unfamiliar. He barely seemed to acknowledge Arthur’s presence. Occasionally, Merlin would reach out his left hand and grope at the air, or fondle with his shirt collar mindlessly. The prince briefly wondered if he was seeing things.

When they reached he horses, Arthur set Merlin down again and gave him more to drink. Merlin seemed to recognize that someone else was tending to him this time and held on to Arthur’s sleeve while he was hydrated, clinging on as if afraid he might fall.

“Merlin?” Arthur questioned, hopeful that the boy might answer in some way. “Merlin, look at me.”

The erroneous boy managed to find Arthur’s eyes. He blinked blankly at him, no recognition present in his face.

“Merlin,” Arthur said again, “do you know who I am?”

He blinked again before his brow furrowed in confusion like he was concentrating extremely hard to remember. Eventually, Merlin’s eyes grew wide, glistening with tears from the heat. He had a look of awe on his face, as if seeing Arthur was a rare, honorable thing to happen to a person.

Creases of worry etched their way into the prince’s face as he made Merlin drink the rest of the second waterskin. The act of getting Merlin onto his horse was a tricky one, especially because the boy kept reaching his hands down towards the ground like he ought to pick something up. But, eventually, Arthur had him secured and he mounted his own horse, ready to lead his friend back home.

 

 

The journey back was quite. Arthur hated it. He stopped occasionally to check on Merlin, always to find him in the same position, slumped onto his horse’s neck, barely awake, and with bated breath. By the time they reached the castle, he had fallen asleep and Arthur had to carry the filthy invalid to the physician’s chambers.

 

 

For about a day and a half Merlin was delirious. He would say strange things and point at something that wasn’t there. He got moody once he was able to muster up words. He seemed to get frustrated with everything, somewhat realizing that some of the things he saw were not really there and being disgruntled about it. Whenever someone came to visit him he would ask them why they were there. When they explained that he was sick or injured, he would insist that he was fine or just tired; nothing to worry about.

The next morning, Merlin woke sounding more like himself, though he was helplessly exhausted and could barely lift his head up. However, after being given cool water and a fruitful breakfast, he was more or less recovered. Gaius prescribed him a day of rest and to avoid doing anything out in the heat for a few days.

Merlin took his day off for granted and did not wake once throughout the entire day, except when Gaius insisted that he drink some water. The next day, however, he returned to work, feeling fully rested.

 

 

“Morning!” He cheered as he strut into Arthur’s chambers and threw open the curtains.

Arthur groaned and rolled over so that his face was jammed into his pillow. He had kicked off his blankets during the night and they were now jumbled up in a clump on the end of the bed. The weather was still too warm for anyone’s liking.

“It’s too hot to move,” Arthur complained as he lifted his head back up, regretting letting his face sink into his own sweat soaked pillow.

“Well, maybe, if you weren’t such an arrogant, royal, arse, you would realize that your bed is probably the warmest place in the room and moving might actually do you some good!” Merlin teased as he rummaged through the wardrobe for Arthur’s outfit.

Agitated and half asleep, Arthur climbed out of bed and let Merlin dress him as they did normally. He was glad his servant was recovered and, once he was aware enough to appreciate his renewed presence, he smiled.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said, sincerely. “I want you to sit down.”

“What?” Merlin questioned. Arthur nodded and gestured to one of the chairs by his dining table, which was lined with the food Merlin had brought.

Merlin wavered for a moment before he obeyed and took the seat opposite of Arthur’s usual chair. The prince took his respected seat across from his servant and folded his hands on the table’s edge.

“What’s this about?” Merlin asked, slightly wary.

“I wanted to say,” Arthur replied, “that I’m sorry.”

Merlin’s eyes went wide, though he tried to conceal it.

“I shouldn’t have put you at risk like that,” Arthur apologized. “I was _rude_ and it was far too bloody hot out there for me to deny you water. I’m sorry.”

“Arthur, you didn’t—“

“When I found you,” Arthur elaborated, “you weren’t breathing, Merlin. You’d gone and drank hot, black mud because it was all you could find, and it was entirely my fault. I thought I’d lost you and I can’t live with that. And, even after all I did to you, you were . . . you were still holding onto that damned knife.” He nodded then to Merlin’s lap. In response, the boy lifted his hands and looked at them, his right hand thickly bandaged and stinging slightly from the movement.

“To be fair,” Merlin jested, “I _was_ delusional when you found me. Why else would I have followed orders?” A lopsided grin returned to Merlin’s pink face, still tinted by the sun. “Where is the knife anyway?”

Arthur’s brow rose. “Oh!” he panicked. “I, um . . .” Before he could come up with a clever lie, Merlin gave him and expectant look and he felt compelled to answer. “I threw it away.”

“Well,” Merlin huffed, “I suppose that makes the _whole_ ordeal worth it, so long as we _didn’t even bring the damn thing back!”_

“Shut up,” Arthur declared. He began to casually eat his breakfast while Merlin sat awkwardly on the other side of the table. “Well?” Arthur encouraged.

“What?”

“Eat!” Arthur told him.

The surprise on Merlin’s face was priceless and the prince laughed to himself as his flabbergasted servant hesitantly began to pick at the royal meal.


End file.
